by Benton, Ken
Another army vehicle appeared on the road.
“…at any price,” Joel added watching it speed by.
* * *
“You sure are lucky to have me, you know that?” Sammy said.
Joel dragged another file on his computer screen to back up on the flash drive before looking up at him. Sammy’s curly black hair was in need of a trim.
“Yes, I know that. I’ve always known that. You’re a great salesman, smart, trustworthy, and an overall rare good employee. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
“I mean now,” Sammy said. “You’re lucky to have me now.”
“How so?”
“To be here.” Sammy pointed at the couch in the customer lounge area. “Someone to keep their head while the rest of the world is losing theirs.”
Joel chuckled. “I can’t believe you want to sleep on that.”
Sammy shrugged. “My living situation sucks. Roommate is an ass. I need to move.”
“If this thing is real, you will shortly discover you need to move somewhere rural.” Joel pulled the flash drive out of the computer tower and pointed it at Sammy. “I recommend you follow my example and get going now. Don’t you have family on a farm somewhere?”
“Yeah, in Idaho,” Sammy said. “Can’t get there from here.” He pointed at the TV.
Joel turned to the television screen where a reporter stood at the Baltimore-Washington airport amongst a crowd of travelers that would make one think it was the day before Thanksgiving. She continued to repeat the same babble about tomorrow’s flights all being cancelled by a grounded aircraft order as a precautionary measure strongly recommended by NASA. So not only were many of those passengers rebooking to today’s flights, filling them all up, but you also had people worried about the approaching solar storm suddenly trying to get on planes to go somewhere. Most standby lists were no longer taking additional names, but desperate travelers continued to arrive—along with National Guardsmen. Train stations had quickly become a similar mess.
“I’d try to drive it,” Joel said. “We may have about twenty hours until this thing strikes. If you leave right now, top up your tank at small country gas stations and large truck stops, and load up on caffeine and sugar, a zestful young man like you might be able to get to Nebraska before needing a nap. You may not be able to refuel after the storm hits, but if your car survives, you can probably get reasonably close to Idaho driving off your last tank—like maybe halfway through Wyoming. Then backpack it from there.”
Sammy laughed. “No thanks. Besides, you need someone here to watch the place when it turns out to be another Y2K bug.”
“This is more like a weather forecast than a technology scare,” Joel said.
“Well, they ain’t been so good with weather lately, either. The last hurricane apocalypse fizzled to nothing more than a few sprinkles in DC. And I’ve stayed through bad ones, too.”
“Suit yourself.” Joel squatted to disconnect the last of the computer cords. “There’s two kinds of people in this world, my friend.”
“You and your old movie quotes. You should try watching a film from this century, man.”
“When they make something half as good as The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, let me know and I’ll buy the popcorn. Open that last can for me, will you?”
Sammy went to the metal container nearest Joel and pulled the lid off. “You really think these trash cans are going to save the computers if everything gets zapped?”
“They’re galvanized, and I lined them with cardboard. They should, as long as the lids stay on tight, assuming our metal roof and siding aren’t already enough to deflect the magnetic storm surge. Not that there will likely be any place to plug them in again any time soon.”
Joel packed the last PC components in the can, took the lid from Sammy, and sealed it shut again.
“Well,” Joel said looking around. “That’s about it, I guess.”
“All right, boss.” Sammy extended his hand. “Good luck. I’ll hold the fort down here, come hell or high water.”
“Listen, Sammy.” Joel shook his hand with a stronger grip than he used with customers. “All that stuff I said about you is true. So I wish you’d listen to me. If the worst does happen, it isn’t going to be like waiting out a hurricane. The city won’t be any kind of place to try to live.”
Sammy retrieved his hand and massaged it in something less than an academy award winning performance.
Joel continued his farewell address.
“Whatever you do, don’t be a hero defending the lot. We are fully insured. If thieves come for the cars, let them go. There isn’t enough gas in any of them to get far even if some of them still start afterwards. There won’t be any gas stations operating because the pumps won’t work. The petty cash in the safe might not even help you. Your most valuable assets are likely to be whatever is in the vending machines. And, of course, your ammunition. Wish I could afford to leave you more than my blunderbuss shotgun and one box of shells. This Mossberg model does have a wicked reputation for effectiveness should you need to use it. If you find yourself hitting the road, I left a note with directions to my cabin in the top drawer of my desk. You will certainly be welcome.”
“Thanks, Joel.” Sammy’s voice turned serious for once. “Nice to know I have a reachable place to go where someone will be glad to see me.” He half-smiled. “Tennessee, huh?”
“Yep. Agriculture and commerce, baby. Just don’t count on much in the way of active commerce if you end up coming.”
They said their final goodbyes after Joel made one last inspection tour through both office trailers.
Outside by himself, Joel stood a while and looked around at the business he’d built.
“Ah, it’s only a bunch of stupid cars,” he finally said to himself. He turned to the fourteen-year old red Ford F250, now parked majestically in front with a full tank. Two large gas cans—also filled with diesel—were strapped in the back, hidden by tarps.
“Time to go.”
Traffic was light crossing the bridge to Arlington. Joel noticed families playing in the park near his house.
“So it was in the days of Noah,” he mumbled as he pulled into his driveway.
Packing didn’t take long. Clothes and personal hygiene items fit in one piece of luggage. The portable gun locker took as much space in the back seat as his clothes, but still left room for additional bags, even after adding two boxes of supplies. Good thing, because Joel would be traveling with a woman. Yeah, she claimed to be a minimalist, but was still female.
Miscellaneous camping gear joined the items in the small bed of the truck. Joel secured it with tie-downs. He kept ample additional supplies at the cabin, but the journey there could become uncertain if the roads started to look anything like the airports. Should worse come to worse, he and Jessie could survive outdoors for quite a while with the gear in the truck.
Traffic on southbound I-95 turned out to be light as well, although more drivers than normal were speeding. Some of those vehicles were packed up like Joel’s, but others resembled normal everyday commuter traffic with people singing to the radio or talking on their cell phones.
Yep. Two kinds of people in this world.
Off the highway in Fredericksburg, Joel decided to stop by the yoga studio, since it was on the way to Jessie’s condo. Sure enough, he spotted Jessie’s yellow Smart Car in front, looking as much like a banana on a roller skate as it ever did. Joel pulled into the spot next to it, walked to the front door, and was only a little surprised to discover a yoga class in session, with a reasonably full class.
Joel decided to wait in his car. But before he even turned around, a faintly familiar female voice spoke to him from behind.
“Hi, Joel.”
Joel turned to encounter blue eyes not quite as bright as they’d been last night.
“Debra?”
“Sorry about my appearance,” she said. “Not enough sleep. Archer is meeting us here, too.”
“Oh,” Joel replied, hesitating some. “Okay.”
Debra tilted her head. “To … make plans. I understand we are all bugging out together?”
Chapter Three
Even the inflated wad of bills Nathan held failed to inspire him. Harley whined impatiently, but lay back on his bed in the corner of the office when Nathan looked over at him.
“I know,” Nathan said. “Busy day. Almost ready to go home, boy.”
Harley lifted his large black head again at the sound of tires rolling on gravel in the yard, but not very enthusiastically.
“Shoot.” Nathan stood. “Forgot to chain the gate.”
Bright truck headlights blinded him as he stepped outside. Harley tried to follow, but Nathan had mercy on him and closed the office door.
The truck pulled sideways, enough to see that it was, of all things, a U-Haul. As it backed itself near the fill tank, Nathan could see the gate to the yard. Whoever this was had taken the time to roll it closed again behind them. That was odd, especially since the big Fredericksburg Propane sign was dark. At least Nathan remembered to turn that off.
Two men exited the truck, both wearing baseball caps. The driver eclipsed the passenger, being twice his size even while the passenger wore a coat much too heavy for a moderate spring evening.
“Sorry,” Nathan announced to them with a horizontal wave. “We’re closed.”
“Saw your light on in there,” the driver replied in a rough voice. “And the gate wasn’t locked. We’ll take a few cylinders off your hands, if you don’t mind.”
Nathan glanced back and forth between the two men. Something told him it was smartest to cooperate.
“Exchange or refill?”
“No,” the driver said. “Outright purchase.”
“I have to charge you a deposit, then, so it will be $35 each, and the limit is two.”
The driver turned to point behind him at the stock of cylinders behind the fill tank. “Those full?”
“Yes,” Nathan answered. “You want one or two?”
When the driver turned back around he held a pistol, pointed at Nathan.
“As many as will fit. Start loading them.”
Nathan instinctively raised his hands.
“Put your damn hands down, and start loading my truck, dude.”
Harley barked. He no longer sounded tired.
The driver motioned towards the office. “Is your dog restrained?”
“Yes.” Nathan raised his voice. “Harley, it’s all right! Stay!”
“Red, make sure,” the driver said to his accomplice, who suddenly also brandished a hand gun. Now that Nathan noticed, the passenger did have fiery red hair under that cap—and lots of it.
The driver turned back to Nathan. “You, start loading.”
The man named Red headed towards the office as Nathan made his way to the pyramid of full propane cylinders.
He managed to get two in the U-Haul cargo hold before Harley started going ballistic inside the office. Nathan again yelled for him to stop, which appeared to work.
For a moment.
Nathan carried a third and fourth cylinder to the back of U-Haul, whereupon the silence ended. The sound of a muffled collision drew both Nathan and the driver’s attention again to the office.
What they saw there happened quickly. Nathan realized the window was open about half a second before the nine-year-old Rottweiler came crashing through the screen. It certainly took Red by surprise. Before he could react, he found a dog’s jaws clamped down on his gun hand—and his gun on the ground.
The ensuing scream would have alerted any neighbors that were still around, which is why, no doubt, the driver ran to his aid.
Nathan set the two cylinders on the ground before sprinting across the lot behind the wooden shed.
A gunshot fired. The dog growls stopped. The driver didn’t spend much time investigating his partner’s well-being.
That’s when Nathan decided to hop the wall. Amazing how efficiently one can scale obstacles when motivated by fear.
It proved a good decision. The robbers looked for him maybe twenty seconds before taking upon themselves the task of continuing to load cylinders. The driver sounded unsympathetic, and even downright annoyed, at Red’s inability to load more than one at a time.
Nathan broke into a disoriented scramble in the alley behind.
Harley. Damn, Harley. Yes, he’d been getting up there in years. But Nathan wasn’t ready to lose him. Then again, if he had to lose him at all, there was no better way for him to go.
That dog always did know how to grandstand.
* * *
The half-moon shone through Jessie’s kitchen window as Joel considered his response. He didn’t want to upset anyone by speaking too quickly. But the restraint required effort.
“Do you understand we may be gone an extended period of time?’ Joel asked. “And that there is no guarantee of return transportation?”
“Perfectly,” Archer answered. “In fact, we are probably more aware of that than most people.”
“So you are abandoning your jobs, then?”
Archer nodded. “In a manner of speaking. We have both arranged for an extended leave of absence. Effective tomorrow.”
Joel glanced at Jessie and shrugged. “All right. So you both still need to pack?”
Archer opened his mouth to reply again, but Debra beat him to it.
“That won’t take long. We just haven’t had time.”
Joel looked at the clock. “Well, it’s a 500-mile journey, and it’s starting to get—”
Archer interrupted him. “I have a lot of my stuff loaded already. My hunting and fishing equipment, anyway.”
“In the truck you were going to sell me, right?” Joel asked.
“Yes.” Archer took a sip of coffee, spilling a drop on his dress shirt. “Crap. Good thing I still have that truck, huh, Deb?”
Debra ignored him and spoke to Joel.
“We really appreciate you letting us come along. I mean, we still hope the worst doesn’t happen, but all our collected space weather data is projecting an unprecedented event—at least in the modern era. It’s nice to have … friends, and someplace to go.”
“Of course, girl,” Jessie said reaching for her hand across the table. “I wouldn’t think otherwise.”
Jessie’s outstretched arm painted an interesting contrast squeezing Debra’s—Jessie’s being fair-skinned and adorned with bracelets, rings, and some ink on the forearm whereas Debra’s was bare, smooth, and slightly tan. The silent moment soon grew into an uneasy tension. Joel noticed everyone taking quick glimpses at him, as if they were embarrassed.
“You are both welcome to come,” Joel said as reassuringly as he could. “I have the room. Especially for someone with hunting and fishing gear.” He smiled at Archer. “But I think it’s time to get this expedition in motion. You two should finish packing, and grab a few hours’ sleep if you can. We should hit the road no later than three.”
Debra and Archer frowned at each other, acting confused.
“You mean … in the morning?” Jessie asked.
“Yes. It’s an eight-hour drive under normal conditions. I’d like to at least try to beat the predicted timing of the event.”
“Oh,” Debra said pulling her arm free from Jessie’s. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. We have to work tomorrow morning, and can’t leave until after the event.”
“What?” Joel leaned back in his chair and glanced between everyone. “Um, yeah. Misunderstanding. Well, I can draw you up a map with directions. Like I said, you will definitely be welcome. We’ll keep an eye out for you.” He hoped the relief in his voice wasn’t too obvious.
“Honey!” Jessie said. “Why can’t we wait for them?”
Archer spoke. “Hey, I understand. Who knows how difficult traveling may be after the storm arrives. I appreciate the map and the invite.”
“Why would traveling become difficult?” Jessie asked.
; Archer bit a fingernail. “Things could get messy.”
“And the highways could get clogged with abandoned cars,” Joel added. “Especially if a lot of them are on the road when it hits. Your truck has four-wheel-drive, I hope?”
“Yep.”
Jessie’s eye’s widened. “The solar flare could make cars break down, Archer?”
“It’s possible. All we really have are theories.”
Joel stood up and said, “EMP simulation tests have stalled running cars, but in those tests many of the vehicles restarted afterwards. Not all, though.” He went to the sink to get a glass of water.
“What’s an EMP?” Jessie asked.
“Electromagnetic pulse,” Debra answered. “The flare coming at us was caused by a gigantic coronal mass ejection. The scientific community—those of us who know what we are doing, anyway—all pretty much agree the resulting storm is likely carrying every bad thing we know about, including a massive EMP. That’s what will fry our power grid—after it smashes the Earth’s magnetic field, and possibly destroys much of the ozone layer as well. Don’t forget to pack sunscreen.”
“The problem with the highways,” Joel said returning to the table, “won’t just be from mechanical failure. A lot of cars will simply run out of gas, as modern gas pumps are electric so won’t be working. I hope you have some extra fuel, Archer?”
“No,” he answered. “But my tank is full, all 34 gallons. It gets better than 18 miles per gallon when it’s not loaded, so we should make it.”
“Sweetie,” Debra said to Archer. “Maybe we should think about going with them. Neither of us is essential tomorrow.”
“Yes!” Jessie chimed.
Archer shook his head. “I can’t do it. Could you, Deb? Honestly?”
She brushed a strand of blonde hair away from her puffy eyes. “No. I guess not.”
“Why not?” Jessie demanded. “Why stay until afterwards, if it’s going to be so bad?”
“We’re scientists, Jess.” This time Debra reached for Jessie’s hand. “This is the event of a lifetime, in a field of our specialty. It would be like the starting quarterback calling in sick for the Super Bowl because he thinks his team will lose.”